by George Gibbs
*CHAPTER XIX*
*THE LADY IN GRAY*
She was frankly amused at his bewilderment.
"Well," she said with a smile, "you don't seem very pleased to see me."
"I--it's rather sudden. I wasn't exactly certain it was you." He tookher hand mechanically. "What on earth are you doing out here?"
"I've come to see you--traveled two thousand miles to tell you I'msorry."
Jeff brought forth a chair.
"Sorry? What for? Oh, yes, we quarreled, didn't we? I remember. Itwas my fault. But I don't understand yet. Are you on your way to thecoast?"
"What coast? Oh, no," coolly; "I rather thought I'd reached mydestination, but perhaps I'm mistaken."
Jeff was still regarding her curiously, as if he couldn't be quite surehe was not dreaming. He pulled out his swivel chair and sat in it,facing her.
"Now tell me what this means," he insisted rather sternly.
"I've told you. I want to convey the impression of begging your pardon.Don't I do it? I've tried so hard. Ugh! Such unspeakablesleeping-cars last night! Such a silly little train this morning fromthe place with the unpronounceable name. I had no idea that friendshipcould be such a martyrdom!" She sighed. "I think I really deservesomething after this."
He found that he was smiling in spite of himself. "You do, I'm sure," hesaid after a pause. "But I don't bear you any grudge. I expected toomuch of you, I guess. I've forgotten that long ago. I'm glad to seeyou."
"Really?" she drawled. "You convey just the opposite idea. You oughtto be glad, you know. I've never been so tired in my life. That train!Oh, Jeff, whatever possessed you to live in such an outlandish place?"
"This is where I belong. If Mesa City is outlandish, then I'moutlandish, too."
"Love me, love my dog," she laughed. "I'd have to love you a lot.Perhaps it will improve on acquaintance." She crossed her feet andsettled more comfortably in her chair, while Jeff watched her shrewdly.
"You can't mean you want to stay here?" he asked.
"I don't know. That depends on you. I've told you the sentimental sideof my journey. Actually I'm a practical young female, with a prudent eyefor an investment." And when her companion smiled, "Are you laughingbecause you think I'm not practical--or because you think I'm notprudent?"
"I'd hardly call you either. In fact, I don't know what to think. Youdon't seem to belong, somehow."
"Why not? Once you said I spoke out like Mesa City."
"But you don't look like Mesa City."
"Horrors!" preening her hair, "I hope not."
Jeff leaned back in his chair with folded arms and examined her--hiseyes narrowing critically. She had given two explanations of herpresence, neither of which in itself seemed sufficient. The realexplanation, he was forced to admit, lay in the presence itself. Shebore his scrutiny calmly, examining him with frank interest.
"What is it you don't understand?" she asked him, answering the questionin his eyes with another. "Me? Oh, you'll have to give it up. Thereisn't any answer. I'm something between a sibyl and a sphinx. Youthought you'd guessed me in New York, but you hadn't, you see. I'mneither what you thought I was, nor what you thought I ought to be. I'mthe spirit of Self-Will. I do as I choose. I thought I'd like to seeyou, and so I came--_Voila_."
"I don't know what you can expect here. The accommodations at thehotel----"
"Oh, I can stand anything now--after your trains----"
"You'll be bored to death."
"I'm always bored to death. But, then, this place may have the charm ofboring me in an entirely new way. After all," she sighed, "I might aswell be bored here as at home."
Wray got up without speaking and walked to the window which overlookedthe plains. He stood here a moment, his hands behind his back, the lookof perplexity deepening on his face. Somehow Rita Cheyne didn't seemaccessory to the rather grim background of his thoughts. For days hehad been acting the leading part in what now promised to be a tragedy.Rita belonged to satirical comedy or, at the best, to the politemelodrama. Something of this she suddenly read in his attitude,wondering why she had not discerned it before. She got up and went overto him.
"What is it, Jeff? You're changed somehow out here. You seem older,bigger, browner, more thoughtful."
"This is where I work, Rita," he said with a slow smile. "In New Yorkwe Westerners only play. I am older--yes, more thoughtful, too. I'vehad a good deal to worry me----"
"Yes, I know. I think Cortland Bent has been behaving very badly."
Jeff made a quick gesture of protest.
"I didn't mean that," he said abruptly. "My worries are businessworries."
"Oh! I intruded."
"Yes, you did. But I'm glad of it now. I'm going to Hell about as fastas a man can, but I might as well do it comfortably."
"What do you mean?" she asked in alarm.
"Your relatives, the Bents. They've got me in a corner."
"Yes, I heard. What will be the end of it?"
Jeff ran a finger around his throat with a significant gesture.
"Won't you tell me about it?"
"It wouldn't interest you. It's a long story. They have more money thanI have. That's the amount of it."
"I thought you were so wealthy."
"I am. But I can't go up against the whole of Wall Street. They'vecost me a lot. If I won this fight I'd be the richest man west of theMissouri River. It isn't over yet." He paced the room violently,beginning to rant, as he still did when to talked of himself. "No, byG--d! not yet. They've got to come to me in the end. They can't get mymine." He went over to his desk and took out a piece of ore. "Seethat, Rita; that came out of 'Lone Tree' only yesterday. They may get acontrol of the Denver and Saguache and even of the Development Company,but they can't get the 'Lone Tree.' I reckon I won't starve."
"But how can they get the Development Company?"
"The banks have called my loans--oh, you can't understand. If I don'tmeet them, the stock will be sold. Bent's crowd will buy it."
"Of course I don't know much about these things, but I waswondering--how much stock is there?"
"Two million and a half. I've borrowed eight hundred thousand dollars."
She looked down, turning the ferrule of her umbrella on the toe of herboot.
"Suppose some one else bought it?"
"I hadn't thought of that. Who?"
"Me."
Jeff started forward in his chair, his eyes blazing--then he took a stepor two away from her.
"You?"
She nodded pertly. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder.Then, with a warm impulse, he seized both of her hands in his and heldthem tightly in his own.
"That's white of you, Rita. You're the real thing. I'll swear youare--the Real Thing--you've got sand, too, a lot of it, and I like youfor it. It's worth while getting in a hole to find out who your friendsare. I won't forget this soon."
She disengaged her hands.
"Thanks," she said calmly. "Do you agree?"
"Agree? To what?"
"To let me buy that stock?"
He straightened and turned to his desk, uncertainly fingering somepapers there. He was silent so long that she repeated the question.
"No," he said at last.
"Why do you say that?"
"I don't want you to."
"I don't understand. In New York you were willing to have me in withyou. Why do you object now? Any security your banks will take ought tobe good enough for me. Any security my cousin Cornelius Bent wants tobuy ought to be worth having."
"It is--to him."
"Then why not to me?--it's all in the family."
He looked at her blankly a moment and then laughed and shook his head.
"No--there's too much risk."
"I expected to risk something."
He sat down in his chair before her and put his hands over hers.
> "See here, Rita. You'll have to let me think this thing out and take myown time. I never put my friends into anything I don't believe inmyself. If you're looking for an investment here I'll find yousomething. I know a dozen good things."
"You can't prevent my getting that stock if I want it," she broke in.
"The Amalgamated can."
"I'll go to the General and tell him I insist on having it. He's alittle afraid of me."
He laughed. "He ought to be. I am, too." Jeff rose and took up hishat and Rita Cheyne's traveling bag. "There's one thing sure: I'm notgoing to talk about this any more--not now. You're tired. I've got toget you fixed up somehow. You know I started building a place up in thecanon, but it's not finished yet. Mrs. Brennan is away. There'snothing for it but a hotel, I guess."
"Oh, I don't care. I'm not going to be discouraged. I warn you I alwayshave my own way--in the end--in all things."
He chose to disregard the significance of the remark and showed her out.On their way up the street the spirit moved him to apologize again.
"There's a bathroom at the Kinney House. I'd better take you there.It's pretty well kept. Camilla stayed there once. I wish she was here."
"You do?" quizzically.
"Why--yes."
"Then why don't you have her here?" she asked suddenly.
A shade passed over Jeff's face. "We went East for the winter," he saidslowly. "I had to come back here. My wife likes it in New York. It--itwasn't advisable for her to come."
"Thanks, I knew that before," she said slowly. Further conversation wasinterrupted by their arrival at the Kinney House, a frame structure atthe upper end of Main Street, where it stood in lonely dignity, quitedwarfing its nearest neighbors, which clambered part of the way up theslope and then paused--as though in sudden diffidence before the majestyof its three-storied preeminence. It wore at this time a coat of yellowpaint of a somewhat bilious hue, but its cornices, moldings, and therather coquettish ornaments about the "Ladies Entrance" were paintedwhite. The letters C-A-F-E (without the accent), painted ostentatiouslyupon a window, gave a touch of modernity, and the words "Ladies' Parlor"advised the wearied traveler that here was to be found a haven for thefemales of refined and retiring dispositions. The sound of a piano washeard from that chaste apartment as Mrs. Cheyne registered her longangular signature beneath that of "Pat O'Connell, Santa Fe"; and thestrains of "The Maiden's Prayer" came forth, followed presently by the"Carnival of Venice." Mrs. Cheyne smiled her tolerance.
"Do you want a room by the day, week or month, ma'am?" asked the clerk.
"I'm a little uncertain," she said; "I may be here only for a day or twoor I may be here"--and she glanced at Jeff--"for a month--or evenlonger."
"Mrs. Cheyne is looking into some mining properties," said Jeff with anamused air. But when his companion followed the clerk up the stairway,jangling a key with a huge brass tag, Jeff departed thoughtfully. Sofar as he could see, Mrs. Cheyne had come to Mesa City with the expressintention of playing the devil. The magnificence of her financialoffer, while it dazzled, had not blinded him. But he was trulybewildered by her audacity, disarmed by the recklessness of heramiability. She always got what she wanted in the end, she said. Whatwas it she wanted? Himself? He couldn't help thinking so, but it madehim feel like a fool. In the East she had led him or as she led othermen on, for the mere joy of the game, and he had followed hercautiously, aware of his own insufficiency but delighting in theopportunities her society afforded him to even his accounts withCamilla. Both had called their relation friendship for want of a betterword, but Jeff knew that friendship had another flavor. The night whenhe had last visited her he had played his cards and had called thatbluff. But to-day he realized that she had seen his raise and had nowremoved the limit from the game. From now on it was to be for tablestakes, with Rita Cheyne dealing the cards.
And what did her amazing financial proposition mean? Could it begenuine? He knew that she was very wealthy--wealthy in the New Yorkway--but it was not in his experience that sentiment and finance hadanything in common. If her offers were genuine, her confidence in hisfinancial integrity and in him was extraordinary. If they were not, herconfidence in herself was likewise extraordinary.
Jeff smiled to himself a little uneasily. What would Mesa City besaying about the unexplained arrival of a captivating female from NewYork who sought him out at his office and whose claims upon his society(unless he fled) could not be denied. There was no chance for him toflee, even if he wished, the condition of his business requiring hispresence here for at least a few days, and the trunk check in his handreminded him that he had promised Rita Cheyne her trunk immediately, sothat she might ride with him that very afternoon. What was to be done?Her ingenuity had always surprised him, and her resources were ofinfinite variety. To tell the truth, he was afraid of her, and waswilling for the first time to acknowledge it frankly to himself. Sheinterested him--had always interested him--but it seemed to be more theinterest of curiosity than that of any real affiliation. To be withRita Cheyne was like going to a three-ring circus, where one is apt tolose sight of the refined performance on the stage just in front inbewilderment over the acrobatic feats of the lady in spangles at oneside. What was her real reason for coming West to Mesa City? He gaveit up and turned in at the office, gave the trunk check to a clerk, andin a moment had taken up his business at the point where Mrs. Cheyne hadinterrupted him.
Eight hundred thousand dollars! If the Amalgamated took up that stock,General Bent's crowd would have control of the Development Company andthe Denver and Saguache Railroad Company. If Rita Cheyne's offers weregenuine--if he chose to use her money to redeem that stock--he couldplace himself on some kind of financial footing, could entrench himselffor a long battle over the railroad connections, which he mighteventually win. There was a chance. He did not dare to call inMulrennan to talk the matter over. Pete had been catching at straws fora week, and Jeff knew what his advice would be. His superstitious mindwould look on Mrs. Cheyne's visit as a direct interposition ofProvidence, as a message and an injunction. Jeff began to think himselfmad not to have accepted her proposition at once. It dangled before himtemptingly--but he let it hang there like ripe fruit upon the vine,hesitating to reach forth and seize. He could not believe it was real.It was "too aisy," as Pete would have said. Was he losing his nerve?Was it that the last victories of his enemies had sapped some of his oldassurance, or had he suddenly developed a conscience? He put his headin his hands and tried to think. If he won his fight he could doubleRita Cheyne's money in a year. If he lost--and he had to think of thatmore and more each day--the stock might not be worth the paper it waswritten on. Rita knew all this, but she still believed in him--moreeven than he believed in himself. Women were funny. He couldn'tunderstand, unless she had some motive which had not been revealed tohim. There would be a string of some sort to that extraordinaryproposition.
He got up at last and sent a message to the Home Ranch, ordering twohorses to be sent to his office at three o'clock.
